Dupont Circle in Washington DC circa 1967 where I rented an apartment to meet up and tear-up the town with a chap I first met as a teenager in Lagos where his father was US Ambassador to Nigeria. Joe P. was soon to be drafted and was hell bent on having the best time he could in the time left. His girlfriend was Mary C. whose father was a WW2 seaplane pilot in the Pacific. His family were from Denmark. I liked Mary at once. She was funny and very bright. She liked things I liked: folk music (1966), country dancing, things creative, an infectious sense of humour and love for all things bizarre. And she had great legs.
She told me some years later she liked me because I jumped over cars.
We’ve corresponded over the years and still do. I have shoe boxes of beautifully penned letters and attractively decorated envelopes. We meet up on infrequent times I’m in the USA; now of course we email and share daft things, gobble up pinterest and like most of us, we complain a great deal. Oh, and she still has great legs.
We’ll be going to the grave.